


Unsinkable

by sirsable, sunalso



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Bobbi Morse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, HEA, I love edwardian fashion, Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons Friendship, Love is beautiful, Not a fusion, RMS Titanic, lesbian jemma simmons, marvel rare pair bang, spoiler: the boat sinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23122756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsable/pseuds/sirsable, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: AU. Jemma is sailing to a new life in America. Her bunkmate for the trip aboard the Titanic is Bobbi Morse, who's being recalled in the shadow of WW I whether or not she wants to go. They find joy in each other's company and arms, but everything changes fast when tragedy strikes. What life looks like on the other side might not be what they were expecting.Words by SunAlso, Art by SirSable, Beta by Gort
Relationships: Bobbi Morse/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 32
Kudos: 23
Collections: Marvel Rare Pair Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _a/n This is a simmorse fic--double-checking because sometimes tags get missed!--Posting between now and Sunday. I have more beautiful art to include in chapter three! A huge thank you to my artist who made this story come alive! And to Gort for betaing this and listening to me gush about random facts every time I work on it ;-)_

The queue stretched on for what looked like forever, snaking back from the side of the enormous ship that would soon be taking her to a new life. Jemma set down her bag and sighed. 

She’d meant to be early, but a mishap at her boarding house involving a tea kettle had meant she’d been delayed as she’d bandaged up the maid’s hand. The girl had sweet, dark eyes and Jemma had gotten her talking about everything and anything to distract the girl from the pain. It was perhaps the last chance Jemma would have to hear a voice speaking the Queen’s English for quite some time. 

Leaving home was both exciting and terrifying, but Jemma had a job as a research assistant waiting for her in Boston. It was quite possible that the friend, her dear friend, who’d secured the position for her, had neglected to mention her gender, but the excitement of working beside Fitz again had made her not question the offer. 

Packing her few possessions and securing a second-class ticket on the first ship heading to America had preoccupied her for several weeks, but now here she was, about to board the HMS Titanic and steam towards a new life. 

If she ever reached the end of the queue. 

Her neatly pressed straight black skirt and pin-striped blouse were her very best, and her black wool felt hat was appropriate for all occasions. She had papers to read and a few books in her suitcase, which was otherwise crammed with the rest of her clothing and toiletries. Her only pair of boots were on her feet. Being a woman and an academic was not a lucrative pursuit. 

That was going to change. 

She would make it change. 

The line inched slowly towards the huge vessel. When she’d written Fitz that she was traveling on the Titanic, he’d written back with desperate pleas for her to document the engineering marvels of the world’s largest ocean liner. She’d tucked a notebook and pencil in her reticule, but Jemma doubted he wanted details on waiting to embark. 

After a million years, an uninterested man checked her ticket and asked her questions that he didn’t seem to care about the answer to before waving her through. Jemma hefted her bag and strode up the gangway and onto the ship. There were so many people, all talking loudly and busting about. It was like being at the World’s Fair, which she’d attended the prior year in Turin. She’d been accompanying a young lady of means, who’d had the most darling turned-up nose, as a chaperone and tour guide of sorts. The young lady in question had turned out to be more interested in the local men than the science, much to Jemma’s disappointment. 

Her life was rather a long series of disappointments, though quite a few of those had been other people’s. She’d been told more than once that she shouldn’t show off her intelligence because no man would want her for a wife. That suited Jemma just fine. It was why she got along with Fitz, who was the only person on earth that knew Jemma wanted to kiss girls. Such desires weren’t entirely unheard of, though they were never spoken about in polite circles. At the boarding school Jemma had attended, the girls had engaged in a fair bit of snogging, always under the disguise of it being practice for when they got married. To men.

Dear Lord, why was everything about men? 

Fitz had confessed in return that he had never wanted to kiss anyone. Jemma had been so relieved he was actually interested in her research and not what was under her skirt that they’d become inseparable friends almost overnight. Until they graduated and Fitz had received a position as a professor of engineering at Harvard. Jemma had not received any offers at all. It was a testament to their friendship that he’d gotten her a place as his research assistant. Hopefully, she’d find her own professorship from there. 

However, imagining her future as a renowned researcher would have to wait. She should find her cabin first. 

Jemma threaded her way through the crush, heading for the fancy electric elevator that would take her down four floors to her berth. She eagerly noted the mechanisms of the engineering as she crowded into the car with several families, knowing Fitz would beg for details later. 

The ride was smooth, and the operator looked smart in his natty livery. 

They exited into a white-painted corridor, the room numbers neatly noted on the doors. Voices echoed up and down the hallway, and tobacco smoke drifted from an open door. The deck vibrated as a group of laughing children tumbled past her, all dressed like it was Sunday morning. 

She smiled at their backs as they thundered off, their joy infectious. 

Jemma found her cabin, which wasn’t far from the shared loo, and rapped sharply. She entered and closed the door before she looked up. 

Her bag hit the floor. 

Standing in the narrow space between the bunk beds, in nothing but a shift and stays, was the most stunning woman Jemma had ever seen. Golden hair cascaded around her shoulders, framing her face and leading the eye downward to where the thin material of the shift outlined a remarkable pair of breasts. 

“I’m on top,” the woman said, and Jemma nodded her head frantically in agreement, because _yes_ , until she realized she had no idea what the blonde goddess meant, though it most likely wasn’t any of the scenarios racing through Jemma’s mind. 

“Of what?” she managed weakly. 

The woman laughed and, to Jemma’s amazement, her gaze swept up and down Jemma. “The top bunk,” she said, patting the item in question. 

“Oh.” 

With another laugh, the woman held her hand out. “I’m Bobbi, it’s nice to meet you. It seems we’ll be sharing this cabin for the next several days.” 

“You’re American,” Jemma said inanely before she remembered herself and shook Bobbi’s hand. A jolt of electricity shot up Jemma’s arm and she had to bite her lip to keep from making a noise. Bobbi’s fingers were strong, warm, and rougher than Jemma’d been expecting. She hardly knew what to do with herself, she’d never touched someone she fancied quite so much. It was going to be a long week. 

“And you are?” Bobbi asked. 

Jemma pulled her hand back as her face flamed. “I’m Jemma. Jemma Simmons. From Sheffield. I’m actually Dr. Jemma Simmons. I’m traveling to take up a research assistant post in Boston.” Oh dear, she was babbling. “Are you headed home?” 

Bobbi flicked her hair over her shoulders, and mercifully pulled a white lingerie dress from the top bunk. “I am. My grandmother passed and my mother asked me to come home.” Bobbi turned her face away and slid the dress on over her head. 

There were a lot of unsaid things there, and Jemma had to stop herself from prying. Why had Bobbi left in the first place? What had she been doing in Europe? 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jemma murmured. 

Bobbi didn’t reply to the nicety, she simply looked over her shoulder. “Can you do up the back for me?” 

Jemma swallowed hard and nodded. The corner of Bobbi’s mouth turned upward before she faced forward again. 

Jemma’s tongue seemed pasted against the top of her dry mouth as she raised her hands to do up the tiny cloth buttons on the back of the dress. They slipped easily into place like they knew where they belonged. 

Butterflied flapped giddily in her stomach as she carefully did each fastener, pulling the dress together to reveal the shape of Bobbi’s hips and shoulders. 

“I hope it’s a nice thing for you to be able to go home,” Jemma said, desperate to fill the silence with something besides her breathing. “I can’t decide if I’m terribly excited to be going, or if I’m sad because I don’t know when, or if, I’ll be back.” 

“I’m going to say you’re excited, Miss Dr. Jemma Simmons.” Bobbi moved her heavy hair to the side with her hands. “You look very prim, but you wouldn’t be traveling halfway around the world if you didn’t like to try new things. If you didn’t want to explore.” 

Jemma finished doing up the buttons, and her finger lingered on the nape of Bobbi’s neck for a few seconds before Jemma stepped away to sit down on the cabin’s bench. She did like new things, discovering them and learning about them. But it was always much easier with a biological specimen than a human being. “The cabin’s a good size,” she said, looking around the place. “And smells like new paint and fresh wood.” 

“You’re excited,” Bobbi said, sitting beside her. 

Bother, Jemma wasn’t getting out of changing the subject. “I suppose I am.” She crossed her ankles. “It’s an adventure, and it’s not as if I haven’t traveled before, but this time there are no plans to return.” 

“Are you meeting someone you know in America?” 

“Oh, yes, Fitz, he’s the one that got me the posting.” 

Bobbi’s lips quirked before her face became bland and she sat back. “I guess you’re looking forward to seeing him?” 

“Well, yes, he’s my dear friend. I haven’t had anyone to chat about my work with in ever so long. It’ll be good to see him. My friend.” It’d become very important Bobbi understood that last point. 

Bobbi’s eyes, which were a fathomless blue like the ocean they were about to cross, slid towards Jemma. “No wedding bells?” 

“We would both be rather upset with that outcome.” 

Bobbi chuckled, a deep sound that made Jemma warm down to her toes. “I think we’re going to get along,” Bobbi said. “Should we go find something to eat? And you can tell me what you read at university. I studied biology for a while, though I didn’t take a degree. My grandmother thought it was unladylike.” 

Jemma sighed dramatically. “We wouldn’t want that. Next thing you know you’ll be riding horses astride and making men feel inferior.” They shared a look and snickered. How refreshing to find someone else not overly impressed with masculine accomplishments and rules. And in the most unexpected place. 

“I do have a question for you,” Bobbi said as she stood. “Do you believe women should have the vote?” 

“Of course.” 

“I knew I liked you.” 

****

Bobbi stared out over the ocean. The sun was working its way towards the horizon and the water had turned as red as blood. 

She was already missing her close friends, the group she’d run with first in Paris and then London. They’d all hardly been more than children when they’d arrived in Europe after the turn of the century, bright-eyed and wanting to do nothing more than drink, be beautiful, and live. 

That’d all changed. Hunter, her pretend husband, was a spy with the British government. He’d been sent to Munich, and Bobbi hadn’t gone with him. Not this time. She worked for a different country in the same capacity and had been forced to leave for American soil. 

Bobbi had found herself in London and had gotten a ticket on the Titanic. Her grandmother had indeed passed, several years ago, and had died thinking Bobbi was married to an Englishman, but the death made a good cover story. Her other option had been to say she was divorcing her husband. Hunter and she were good friends, they worked well together, and he’d always have some piece of her heart. Not all of their marriage had been fake. Though after some of the (mostly) made-up stories he’d told about her, she probably owed him a punch to the face. But a fake divorce had felt like a step too far. She missed him. 

Bobbi turned her back to the sea and leaned against the railing. Thank god she hadn’t taken the first-class cabin. It was easily within her price range but traveling second class meant fewer people would pay attention to her. 

And it came with a surprise bonus.

Bobbi’s eyes found Jemma where she sat on one of the teak benches, her nose in a book. She seemed oblivious to the gorgeous sunset or fresh salt air. Jemma was also oblivious to Bobbi’s interest in her, though she’d give Jemma the benefit of the doubt. Jemma had been mired in her studies for years and if she’d never ran across anyone to show her how to indicate to another woman that you were interested in her, then she had no way of knowing how outrageously Bobbi had been flirting. Jemma just needed a little push. She was bright, if Bobbi handed her Sappho’s poems and asked her about them, she’d probably—

No. No, no, no. There would be no seduction of her roommate. Even if Jemma appeared to desperately need…

Bobbi sighed. 

Jemma looked like a proper English schoolmarm and Bobbi wanted to see if she could cut through that exterior and get her to have some fun, but at the same time, Bobbi wanted to protect her from all the ugliness of the world. 

Kisses weren’t ugly. Touching and sweet sighs weren’t ugly. 

Love wasn’t ugly. 

Bobbi closed her eyes. This was perhaps the worst time imaginable to get involved with someone. She had a job, and that job didn’t involve kissing perfectly adorable professors. 

“Bobbi?” Jemma said from right beside her, and Bobbi nearly jumped out of her skin. Great spy she was if Jemma could sneak up on her. “You look worried?” 

“Thinking about what I’m going to miss. Good wine for a start.” She linked her arm with Jemma’s. “But nothing that’s very exciting.” It was a lie, but Jemma didn’t need to have all, or any, of Bobbi’s cares dumped on her. 

Bobbi gave herself a new mission for the voyage, she could make sure Jemma had a great time during the trip. And even without a seduction, Bobbi could still help Jemma see there were more people like her in the world, that she wasn’t alone in who she was attracted to. 

And if spending time near the most beautiful and intelligent woman that she’d ever met was the sacrifice Bobbi was going to have to make, well, damn, somebody had to make sure Jemma made it in one piece to New York.

“Shall we take our dinner?” Jemma asked. “And I’d like to visit the library, I’ve read so much about it and there’s supposed to be new editions of journals I’ve not yet had the chance to read.” 

“Yes, to both those.” Bobbi wasn’t as thrilled with the idea of being inside a ship reading along with a bunch of other people. She had brandy in their room she’d rather be sharing with Jemma, while not sharing Jemma with anyone else, but there was no denying the request with how bright-eyed Jemma was about it. And it wouldn’t hurt for Bobbi to read the most current newspapers, even if the storm gathering in Europe made her gut churn. 

Arm in arm, she and Jemma made their way down the wooden stairs to the dining hall. It was busy, loud with the clinking of cutlery on plates and the buzz of a myriad of conversations. Bobbi picked a small table to one side which let her survey the room, and Jemma sank down into the chair opposite her. They’d hardly had time to spread their napkins on their laps and glance at the menu before a waiter appeared, in uniform with his hair slicked back, to set bowls of soup in front of them. 

“Thank you,” Jemma said brightly, picking up a spoon. 

“What will you be having this evening?” he asked, his eyes darting down to appraise first Jemma’s cleavage, and then Bobbi’s. 

She managed not to slug him, though he needed it. “Turkey,” she said sharply. “With peas.”

The man leaned back slightly, and Bobbi studied the menu again, acting like she was bored with him.

Jemma appeared oblivious to it all. “I’ll have the curried chicken and rice, please.” 

The man nodded and scuttled off. 

“That was rather harsh for him simply having a look,” Jemma said, dipping her spoon into what the menu called consommé with tapioca. Not so oblivious after all. 

“I didn’t like him giving you the once over like you’re a piece of meat.” 

Jemma looked down at her spoon, then set it down into the bowl while fixing Bobbi with a calculating gaze. “You did when I first walked into the cabin. I didn’t get upset.” 

“You are sharp,” Bobbi said, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. “And I did. You looked too.” 

“That’s because you were practically naked!” 

“Not remotely.” 

Jemma sputtered. “You were, I could see all kinds of things.” 

“What color are my nipples?” Bobbi asked in a low voice. 

Jemma turned an alarming shade of red and shook her head. 

“See? If I’d been naked, you’d know.” Bobbi grinned but faltered as Jemma continued to look mortified. “I was thinking…that perhaps…you wouldn’t mind knowing?” Had she read Jemma wrong? As an espionage professional, Bobbi’s life could depend on knowing and understanding people’s intent, but maybe she’d simply seen what she’d wanted to in Jemma. Maybe she did carry a torch for some man, even if it wasn’t this friend waiting for her. 

Jemma’s gaze dropped and she sipped several spoonfuls of soup as her brows drew together. Bobbi wanted to kick herself. She was always in control. Always careful with her words, yet somehow this conversation had gotten away from her. 

Finally, Jemma set her spoon down again. “Would this hypothetical situation in which I discover your nipple color also involve you knowing mine?” 

Her dark eyes lifted to challenge Bobbi’s gaze. 

“Yes.” Thank god, she hadn’t been wrong, though apparently, her plans for a chaste, no-seduction friendship had disappeared over the ship’s railing. Bobbi couldn’t halt the runaway train of her thoughts as she imagined Jemma losing all that primness as she trembled and moaned. The bodice of the ridiculous frothy dress she had on to blend in with the rest of passengers abruptly felt far too tight. 

Jemma, cheeks pink, nodded once. “I understand.” She sat upright and daintily resumed eating her soup. If it wasn’t for the obvious heat in Jemma’s eyes, Bobbi would have thought that Jemma had simply forgotten what they’d just been talking about. “Now do tell me, did you go to the theater at all this last season?”

“I saw _Peggy_ ,” Bobbi said, as the soup bowls were taken away and a different waiter with a less wondering eye served them their main courses. The turkey smelled of herbs and Bobbi’s mouth watered. 

Jemma was grinning over her curry. “I was rather fond of the number _The Lass with the Lasso_.” 

“Somehow I’m not surprised.” They shared a grin and Bobbi’s heart stuttered. She gestured at Jemma with her fork. “Tell me about one of the articles you read today.” The turkey tasted as flavorful as it smelled. For second-class, it was amazing. 

Jemma launched into an animated explanation of superconductivity, which was both fascinating for the content, and because Jemma became much more animated, and when Bobbi asked an appropriate question, the smile she received before the response was wide and unguarded. 

This was Jemma in her element, and it was a pleasure to watch. 

The conversation continued, and Bobbi found she minded the library far less than she had thought she would have when they retired there from the dining room. 

Sitting side by side in well-upholstered chairs covered in plush green velvet that felt smooth as skin under her fingers, Bobbi found herself cataloging all of Jemma’s different expressions. In the end, she decided that the way Jemma wrinkled her nose when she was slightly put out over something was the cutest. 

The conversation was perfect as well because Bobbi didn’t have to give much personal information away. A few adroit comments from Bobbi and Jemma would blithely continue on. No one knew the real Bobbi anymore. Not Hunter, and maybe not even Bobbi herself. 

She glanced about the library, trying to absorb how nice it was with its checkered tile floor and bright, electric lights. It also had multiple points on ingress and egress, and the chairs themselves would make fine weapons if needed. Everything else was bolted down--she’d checked--to keep the item in place in case of a storm. 

Bobbi closed her eyes and inhaled. The library smelled as fresh as the rest of the ship. Even the pages of all the books were crisp. 

Everything was new on the Titanic, including Jemma with her dewy complexion and exciting ideas. It made Bobbi want to be new too. 

If only the same old garbage wasn’t waiting for her in New York.


	2. Chapter 2

Coincidences were odd things. That morning, Jemma had thought she’d known exactly how her trip to America would transpire. She’d been prepared for the days at sea with little to do, and long nights in close quarters with a stranger. But some happy accident had occurred to bunk Jemma and Bobbi together. It’d changed everything. The entire course of her life had been altered with a few strokes of a pen.

Or a pencil.

Perhaps a typewriter.

Jemma couldn't stop thinking about Bobbi as they returned to their bunk walking arm in arm. Bobbi was warm and smelled faintly of roses, and Jemma was certain that for the rest of her days she’d never smell roses without picturing Bobbi’s smile or the graceful curve of her neck.

They rode the elevator down to their level. Butterflies took wing in Jemma’s stomach that had nothing to do with the car’s descent.

The turning of the engines that drove the massive propellers of the ship gave the deck under Jemma’s feet a faint hum as she walked beside Bobbi down the corridor towards their cabin. It was nothing compared to the jangle of nerves inside her. Desire made her breasts ache, tightened her nipples, had heat pooling low between her hip bones, but there was also fear. Fear that Bobbi had been teasing, fear that Jemma would be rubbish at snogging, fear that it was all real and that her heart would end up broken.

Bobbi let go of Jemma and unlocked the cabin’s door. She walked in first, and Jemma followed, shutting the door behind them.

They were alone.

Bobbi immediately pulled the pins from her hair and all that shimmering sunlight cascaded down around her shoulders. A whimper escaped Jemma. Bobbi turned in the narrow space between the bunks and the bench. Her eyes were warm, and she wore a smile.

Slowly, Bobbi reached out a hand and slid the tips of her fingers over Jemma’s cheek until her warm, soft palm rested against Jemma’s face. Electricity crackled through Jemma from the touch and her mouth went dry. Bobbi’s gaze caught on Jemma’s lips as she licked them.

“Have you ever kissed a woman?” Bobbi asked.

“At school,” Jemma said. “Sometimes at night, there’d be practice for marriage. Then those other girls all went on to get husbands, and I’m left wishing at least one had enjoyed it as much as me.”

One side of Bobbi’s mouth quirked upwards. “I have no doubt there were others who liked it just as much as you. Marriage to a man hardly means a woman doesn’t wish for kisses or touches from a woman.”

“I might marry Fitz,” she blurted.

Bobbi looked amused as she cradled Jemma’s cheek. “I thought he was just a friend.”

“He is, but I might have to in order to keep my position as a research assistant. An unwed woman would create havoc.” She snorted. “If we marry each other, then we both know we won’t be bothered and can continue being exactly who we are.” Her eyes met Bobbi’s. “I wanted to tell you that, so if you read an announcement in a paper, you know I’m not lying right now.”

“I hate that the world is like this,” Bobbi whispered. “Someday…” she trailed off. “Someday is very long from now, I’m afraid.”

“I often wish I’d been born a man, not…I know there are people, I mean…I’m fine with how I am biologically, but my life would be so much easier. Nobody would question why I enjoy science and wish to spend my days in pursuit of knowledge, and nobody would care that I want to kiss women.”

Bobbi’s thumb brushed across Jemma’s lower lip. “I want to kiss you.”

“Please.” Jemma closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Bobbi stepped closer, her rose scent and warmth slowly wrapping themselves around Jemma. Bobbi’s hand slid around Jemma’s side to her back. Jemma’s lungs burned, there didn’t seem to be enough air. Trembling, she waited.

Bobbi’s lips brushed hers. A fleeting touch that made Jemma whimper. Bobbi’s mouth returned, her lips gliding against Jemma’s. Soft. Perfect. Jemma raised hands that shook to rest on Bobbi’s hips, not daring to do more. She wanted to do so much more. Pull Bobbi tight against her. Sink her fingers into the glorious mass of Bobbi’s hair. Touch every part of her.

The tip of Bobbi’s tongue stroked Jemma’s bottom lip, and she parted them to let Bobbi in. Their tongues slid together, a sweet cotillion rather than a heady waltz as they learned each other. Bobbi tasted rich, like sweetened cream, and Jemma couldn’t get enough. It was nothing like kissing the girls at school. No fumbling or noses bumping. No giggling.

Jemma could kiss Bobbi for a thousand years and it would never be enough, but too soon Bobbi broke the kiss. Jemma’s breathing was ragged, and her body hummed like an electrical wire.

“We should get ready for bed,” Bobbi said. Jemma’s eyes darted to the bunks. “To sleep,” Bobbi added.

Jemma’s heart plummeted, sinking lower than the ship’s hull. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Bobbi said, turning away and bending over to work on the buttons of her boots.

“Then what, you kiss me once and that’s it?”

Bobbi kicked her boots off and arched her back as she reached her arms behind her to undo the buttons of her lingerie dress.

Jemma pulled the pins from her hair and started yanking at the fastenings of her blouse. She put her back to Bobbi as the silence grew. It became a heavy weight as they both removed underthings without looking at each other. Jemma pulled her nightgown from her luggage and shrugged it on, the material warm and concealing.

Turning, she brushed past Bobbi, who had something clingier on, without really looking, and climbed into the bottom bunk, lying on her side to face the wall. “Turn out the light when you’re finished,” Jemma said. Then she could cry. Her whole life felt like this moment. A tease of possibility, and then coldness she didn’t understand.

The thin mattress she lay on dipped as Bobbi sat down. “I’m sorry,” Bobbi said.

“Apology accepted. I’m sorry I’m just me. Now shall we rest?” Jemma’s shoulder’s hunched.

Bobbi sighed. “No, I’m…shit.”

Jemma startled at the curse and she rolled over to look at Bobbi. Her expression was bleak.

“Bobbi?” Jemma asked, sitting up and taking her hand. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m sorry, Jemma,” she said again. “You don’t want me. I had this grand plan of seducing you, of showing you how good things could be, so that in the future you’d be more willing to take the risk and leap to grab onto joy, and kissing you felt so...it was, it was only a kiss and all I wanted to do was to never stop.”

Jemma’s pulse stuttered at hearing her own desire echoed back from Bobbi. “Then why did you?”

“Because you don’t need me, and I’m already struggling to figure out how to let you go. So I have to do it.” Bobbi’s gaze fell to where their hands were clasped on the counterpane.

The words felt far too familiar to Jemma. Fire blazed in her chest. How many times had she been told she couldn’t do something or be something for her own good? That because she was a woman, she should do as she was told, for her own good. She didn’t know her own mind.

To hear the same sentiments falling from Bobbi’s lip, which she just been kissing, was unfair and more than she could bear.

“Are you one of my professors?” Jemma snapped, yanking her hand away from Bobbi. “Shall you tell me how I needn’t bother with this job in America because I will soon find a husband and have children? Perhaps you could lecture me on how my womb makes it impossible for me to understand mathematics.”

Bobbi’s eyes widened. “This is completely different.”

“How? Are you not making choices for me? How are you a suffragette if you don’t believe I can make up my own mind?” Jemma’s chest heaved. That last bit felt a tad unfair.

Bobbi shook her head, and her lips turned up in a small smile. “You’re right, and I hate that you’re right.”

“I hate that you promised me one thing over dinner and then changed your mind.” Jemma could feel her lower lip pushing out in a pout.

“I’m not who you think I am.”

“Oh, you’re not a beautiful and mysterious woman? It’s some trick of the light? Are you perhaps a horse that purchased human clothing?” Also unfair, but at the moment, with ire prickling her spine, she didn’t care.

“I deserved that,” Bobbi said. “No, I’m not simply some rich girl who’s been running around the continent. I have a job that might have been compromised and I was called back across the pond, where who knows what will happen to me.”

Jemma could read between the lines. A spy. The newspapers had been filled with articles the last several years about Germans spying on Britain, and she’d suspected it was the same in Germany. A lot of it sounded like nonsense, like not talking to people with a German accent. As if a proper spy would ever be so obvious.

“I do have to tell you,” Jemma said, just to be certain that Bobbi wasn’t somehow spying on her, “that while I have some papers with me, I have no sensitive information on chemistry advances among them.”

Bobbi looked surprised, then laughed. “I’m not at work right now.”

“You wouldn’t tell me if you were.”

“True.”

“And I don’t care.” Jemma took Bobbi’s hand again. “If all you can give me is a few days on this voyage, I’m okay with that. I won’t pry. Or ask for secrets. I can’t imagine your life.”

Bobbi lay down on the bed, achingly close but still so far, only their fingers touching. “I don’t want you to.”

“Are you going to say something about breaking my heart?” Jemma held still, the tingle of heat moving up her arm was a distraction, but she couldn’t not press the topic. Behind Bobbi’s calm demeanor, a whole wide ocean of emotions boiled. Jemma wanted to set it free.

Bobbi shook her head. “You’ll break my heart.”

The words were mumbled, but they still hit Jemma like a team of carriage horses. “Not on purpose, but does a hypothetical make everything not worth it? You know I wouldn’t be on this ship if I thought that.”

Bobbi scooted closer, their knees touching. “Any amount of pain might be worth this.” Jemma shuddered as Bobbi caressed her shoulder. “But let’s do this slow, please. As if we have all the time in the world. I want to pretend there’s a forever. Let’s spend the day together tomorrow and see how we feel.”

Jemma nodded. “It’ll be lovely.” The ship would dock in Ireland tomorrow, then be on its way across the wide Atlantic to an unknown future. Not many days and Jemma wanted everything she might never have a chance of having again, but she could wait at least one more. With one stipulation. “No more touches and kisses then, not tonight, but don’t leave me alone. I’m so very tired of being alone. Share the bunk with me.”

“That I can do.”

They rearranged themselves in narrow space, Bobbi tucked up against Jemma’s back, a soft, warm weight. Bobbi’s arm secured itself around her, and for the first time that she could remember, Jemma felt as if she’d found somewhere she truly belonged.

****

Bobbi knew she’d regret letting Jemma in. Someday. Not today. She’d woken up with Jemma plastered to her back, they’d shared a sleepy good morning kiss, then helped each other dress for the day and pinned up each other’s hair.

Bobbi never needed help, and it was obviously Jemma didn’t either, but the intimacy of doing up buttons and running a brush through someone else’s hair had been a sweet and sharp pleasure.

_ Don’t get used to it _ , she told herself, over and over.

After lunch, they stood on the deck of the ship, watching the last few passengers being brought aboard from Ireland.

‘It’s a lovely church,” Jemma said, her head bare, letting the wind play with loose tendrils of her dark hair.

It dominated the skyline of the Irish port town, which was charming, with its brightly painted houses. “I don’t know, it’s sort of lurking over everything else.”

“Very catholic of it.”

Bobbi barked with laughter. Jemma kept surprising her. She was brilliant, lovely, clever, a bit particular, and funny, in a very dry, British way.

Bobbi’s heart was going to shatter when they reached New York.

And why had she not simply touched and tasted all of Jemma the night before? It would have been so easy and would have meant one more night of pleasure.

Though the answer was obvious. Jemma wasn’t destined to be a diversion or a passing fancy.

Jemma deserved everything good in life, and sleeping snuggled together had been very, very good. Jemma being incredibly chipper in the morning had been less good.

Bobbi linked her arm with Jemma’s. “Let’s walk and stretch our legs. Perhaps we can go and see some of the amenities of the ship, like the exercise room.”

“You want to go and look at sweaty men?” Jemma asked.

“Not when you put it like that.” She liked some men sweaty at the right time, but not an entire room of them.

“I know,” Jemma said, her grin wide. “Let’s head for the stern, we can watch the water as the screws begin to turn.”

Bobbi refrained from asking about how that would be something fun while steering them towards the rear of the ship. They passed a few lifeboats, neatly covered and stowed away, and walked along a row of windows. Bobbi’s skin crawled. The hair on the back of her neck lifted.

“The two big reciprocating engines drive the propellers,” Jemma said, having launched into a detailed explanation of how the ship’s engines worked. “They’re twenty-three and a half feet across.”

Bobbi stopped and turned towards the windows, fussing with her hair as she watched the other people on the deck.

Jemma blithely kept chattering on. “The two propellers driven by the reciprocating engines are thirty-eight tons apiece. Can you imagine the power needed to turn them? And turn them fast enough to propel this ship?”

“I can’t actually, those numbers are astronomical.”

_ There. _

Bobbi caught sight of a man in a dark suit with a bowler pulled low over his brow, his eyes on her, watching while he thought her preening. She turned suddenly, straightening up and fixing the man, who was tall, thick shouldered, and had a dropping brown mustache.

Immediately he turned on his heel and rounded a corner away from her.

“What was that about?” Jemma asked, peering around Bobbi at where the man had lost himself in the crowd.

“I’m being watched,” she said. “Probably to make sure I get home.” The alternative, that she’d somehow seen something that she didn’t know the importance of and it was the Germans following her, twisted her insides into knots.

“How terrible.” Jemma took her hand. “Do you want to go back to our room?”

“No, let’s go see your thirty-eight-ton propellers moving water.”

Jemma started in on double hulls, leaving Bobbi to wonder what part of the engineering degree had been left for Fitz. The ship was moving slowly as they walked, tugboats guiding it to point out into the Atlantic before setting it free.

The man with the bowler didn’t reappear, and nobody else followed them. Bobbi’s shoulders didn’t relax as she and Jemma made their way aft, but she felt safe enough. She might have been imagining that the man had even been following them.

She’d simply have to keep her guard up. She wouldn’t let anything hurt Jemma.

They reached the stern just as the massive engines kicked in. She could hardly feel them working, but the smooth surface of the ocean roiled. White water churned as the huge vessel began its journey, a violent, unseen force propelling it forward.

Bobbi gripped the railing. “You’ve just explained to me how it all works,” she said to Jemma. “But it still feels like magic.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bobbi had a newfound appreciation for mornings. Jemma turned out to be a consistent cuddler, and during the night she had again curled around Bobbi, so that when Bobbi blinked her eyes open in the morning, it was to the warmth and soft curves of Jemma. She had a faint smile on her face as she slept, her lashes a dark circle over her cheeks and some of her long, dark hair caught in the corner of her mouth.

Gently, Bobbi brushed the hair back from Jemma’s soft lips. She sighed and her eyes fluttered open. Her smile went from sleepy to wide and dazzling.

“Good morning,” Jemma whispered.

Bobbi kissed her very gently. A barely-there peck. “Good morning.”

“I’ve never slept so well as these past nights,” Jemma said, curling a bit of Bobbi’s hair around her finger. “I think I like being in a bed with you.”

Bobbi tried hanging on to her cynicism, reminding herself that this thing with Jemma would be temporary. That Bobbi had woken up with other people before and not all those memories were good. That she and Jemma were crammed together in a tiny bunk in a small cabin with no porthole.

It didn’t work.

Bobbi’s lips curled into a smile, like a flower blooming from the sunshine of Jemma’s grin. “It’s nice. With you, it’s nice.”

Somehow, Jemma brightened even more. Who needed the sun?

“What shall we do today?”

“Besides sleep?”

Jemma poked her shoulder. “I don’t get much time with you. I want to make it all count.”

Damn. Bobbi couldn’t argue that, and she agreed. Memories of Jemma would be nice to carry into whatever assignment Bobbi had next. “Let’s start by making breakfast count.” She kissed the tip of Jemma’s nose before getting up and searching for something to wear. Jemma pulled on a brown skirt and a white embroidered lawn blouse with a high collar on before pinning her hair up into a bun. She looked like a model for a suffragette pamphlet.

Bobbi’s clothes had all been bought in London, her wardrobe having been left behind in Paris as she’d had to flee in the middle of the night, her identity exposed. It would have been terrifying, except she’d been expecting it to happen eventually, been prepared, and it’d felt almost mundane as she’d said goodbye to people she’d known for years and left for the Gare with only what she could carry.

After receiving funds in London, she’d bought what she thought second class ladies would wear. It all looked horrible trite now. With a sigh, she grabbed a pink wash dress with white trim. Not her favorite color by far. It must have been cheap. Dress on, she made quick work of her hair, combing it out and twisting and pinning it around her head.

“You’re very good at that,” Jemma said as Bobbi tucked the last strands in. “And you look lovely in that dress.”

Take the compliment, Bobbi told herself. “Thank you, it’s a new dress and I’m glad it fits.” She patted her hair. “This style is easy. I can show you if you like.”

“I’d like.” Jemma took Bobbi’s hand and gave a little squeeze. “To breakfast?”

Chatter and knives clinking on plates filled the dining saloon, along with the hearty smell of breakfast. Bobbi scanned the room, but nobody even turned in their direction. Had she been overreacting the night before?

Jemma pulled her to a table, frowned when Bobbi ordered coffee instead of tea, and then somehow pivoted into a mostly one-sided conversation about bird migration patterns that only required Bobbi to occasionally confirm that she did know some avian species or other existed. She didn’t mind, this was Jemma, excited to talk about birds. Probably fish and mammals were also on that list. Maybe reptiles.

Jemma’s smooth voice flowed over Bobbi, letting her relax. There were no double meanings. No thinly-veiled threats or hidden messages. It was simply a beautiful woman being passionate about her interests. The world should tolerate far more of that.

“What should we do with the morning?” Bobbi asked as they finished their eggs.

“I’m not sure.”

“What would you do if I wasn’t here?” She licked her fork, Jemma’s eyes riveted on her tongue. The dining salon abruptly felt much smaller. “Would you be documenting angles of the sun or engine vibrations for your friend?”

Jemma laughed. “Not in so much detail. I did promise to sketch some of the lifeboat hoists.” Her brows drew together. “I suppose I might sit in the cabin or on the deck to read. Though, truthfully, I’m most interested in seeing the ship. I might never travel on such a vessel again.” Her eyes shone.

“Let’s do that,” Bobbi said. She liked reading, but an entire day would be too much. And she couldn’t watch for anyone following them if they were in their cabin. “I’ve got a bit of money with me.”

“For what?”

Bobbi shook her head. “For bribes, so we can see the places we’re supposed to stay out of.”

“What kind of places?” Jemma’s expression was adorably confused.

“Like the first-class library.” There, that should do the trick.

Jemma’s eyes got round. “Please, bribe away.”

They rose and Bobbi linked her arm with Jemma’s. “You’re very easily corrupted.”

“It’s a library.” The censure in Jemma’s tone made Bobbi laugh.

“I see, well, let’s start lower down.”

They ranged all through the bowels of the ship, pausing in the impossibly loud engine room to watch the enormous pistons turn, though Jemma seemed more impressed with the turbine engine. She smiled at the men on duty and had plenty to write down in her book for Fitz. Bobbi had never really thought about exactly what drove the propellers before, and to her it seemed like a lot of moving parts that could all break, but Jemma reassured her that everything was in perfect working order.

Around eleven, they found the squash court near the bow of the ship.

A fit man with an impressive mustache leaned against the entrance. “Sorry, Ladies,” he said. “If you’re looking to watch, I’m afraid they left early for lunch. You’ll have to spend your pence elsewhere.”

“We really just wanted to look at the court.” Jemma leaned to the side to look around him.

“Do you play?” the man asked eagerly, his eyes darting between Jemma and Bobbi.

“I’m afraid not, Mr…?” Bobbi said, her brow raised.

He sketched a bow. “Mr. Wright. Do call me Fred. If you want, I can give you two a lesson for the price of admission to the gallery. I didn’t get my full fee and I don’t have another group coming until after one.”

Jemma’s eyes met Bobbi’s, they sparkled with interest. “Sounds wonderful.” She’d never spared a thought for squash before. It was some fussy game men played to prove they were still men to each other, but if Jemma wanted to learn, then Bobbi would as well.

Mr. Wright handed out rackets and gave Jemma a ball. He showed them the basic moves and explained the point system.

“Might you show us a serve?” Jemma asked sweetly, though her eyes were calculating. “It’s all math,” she whispered under her breath and Mr. Wright demonstrated several serves.

“Not all,” Bobbi muttered back. “Physical conditioning will play a factor.”

Jemma’s jaw clenched as she stepped into the serving square.

Twenty minutes later, Bobbi was certain she’d never been happier to lose a game of anything. Her hair had come loose while Jemma’s fell in her eyes. They were both panting and sweating, and Jemma had undoubted proved that math did, in fact, play a large factor in the game.

Mr. Wright looked like he’d been run over by a team of draft horses. He’d shouted some instructions on form during the match, and reminded them of score, but mostly he’d kept out of the way.

“Good show,” he said, taking the racket from Bobbi. “You ladies picked it up much faster than most of the gentlemen.”

“Thank you,” Jemma said, her smile genuine. “I do have a few questions.”

While she cornered Mr. Wright to grill him about play, Bobbi tilted her head back to stretch her neck. Movement in the gallery overlooking the court caught her eye. A figure wearing a bowler hat and black coat. It disappeared a moment later, but Bobbi had no doubt somebody had been watching her and Jemma on the court.

“Thank you, Mr. Wright,” Bobbi said, taking Jemma’s wrist. “I think we need a little rest after all that excitement.”

Jemma waved. “Thank you,” she called as Bobbi urged her towards the exit. The court closed in around Bobbi. The entire ship. Nowhere to go.

“Bunk,” she said to a tousled Jemma, who looked far more alluring than she had any right to. Bobbi planned to kiss her until neither Jemma nor her could breathe, but first, they needed to get somewhere safe.

****

Jemma had always been competitive, but Bobbi had pushed her much farther than expected in their squash game. It’d been difficult to focus on proper angles and holding the racket just right when Bobbi had been galloping around like Athena. Jemma had never given much thought to athletic pursuits, probably because all the teams she knew had been men’s. If there’d been women’s teams, with the jerseys cut to show off their arms…well, she might have cheerfully attended a great many more sporting events than her current grand total of zero.

“What are we doing?” Jemma asked as Bobbi marched her in the direction of their berth. “I’m not actually tired.”

Bobbi looked down at her. “Well, I couldn’t give that man a heart attack by announcing I planned to drag you to our cabin and kiss you. All of you.”

Heat flared deep in Jemma’s belly and her sex throbbed. “Oh, well. A sensible course of action.” She walked faster, and Bobbi laughed. They were practically running by the time they reached their berth. Bobbi undid the door and Jemma slid past her to get in, their bodies rubbing together in the most delicious way.

Jemma immediately pulled the pins from her hair and started undoing the cloth buttons of her blouse.

“All of it,” Bobbi purred, pulling the pins from her blonde hair so it tumbled down around her shoulders. Her intent gaze fastened on Jemma.

Her fingers fumbled. She’d never been looked at this way, like she was desirable. Wanted.

Bobbi stripped off her pink dress, throwing it onto the bench. Jemma got her blouse undone but found herself frozen in place as she watched Bobbi remove her layers. The corset with its front fasteners came off easily, leaving her in her stockings and thin white combination. It had pale blue ribbons around the edges that nearly matched Bobbi’s eyes.

Jemma could hardly breathe. Her corset, which she’d easily ran about in to play squash, now felt far too tight.

Bobbi tutted. “Let me help.” Jemma’s layers fell away, though her lungs still burned even after her corset had joined the heap of clothing on the bench. She had her chemise, drawers, and stockings still on, which was entirely too much when she wanted to be skin to skin with Bobbi. If only her dratted fingers would work.

Grinning, Bobbi stepped back. She put one foot on the bed and rolled her stocking down, then the other. Jemma bit her lip. Everything was taking so bloody long. Stockings off, Bobbi stood in front of Jemma and pulled loose the ribbon holding her combination up. It fluttered to the floor, and Jemma had the answer to what color Bobbi’s nipples were. Pink. Like tight little rosebuds. Jemma’s sex tightened, and she whimpered, not sure how to proceed.

“Shhh,” Bobbi soothed. “I’ve got you.” She leaned in and pressed her lips to the corner of Jemma’s mouth. Jemma immediately turned into the kiss, hungry for more. Bobbi directed Jemma’s hands to her breasts, and Jemma trembled. She’d wanted to do this for so long. Tenderly, she cupped Bobbi’s tits, kneading them softly before working her fingers to the nipples. She experimented, rolling, pinching, and tugging until she found what made Bobbi moan. Their kiss became sloppier as Bobbi arched into Jemma’s touch.

Bobbi’s hands grasped Jemma’s hips and bunched up the material of her chemise. Their kiss broke and Jemma had to let go to let Bobbi drag the thin material over Jemma’s head.

“Lovely,” Bobbi muttered, using a palm to hold Jemma’s breast. Bobbi’s thumb flicked her nipple and Jemma mewled. It felt so different to have someone else’s hand touching her instead of her own. So much better.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jemma managed to say, needing to return the compliment.

Bobbi’s smile was warm. “Now let me help you with your stockings.” She knelt at Jemma’s feet, and Jemma put a hand on her shoulder for balance as Bobbi lifted one of Jemma’s feet, stroked up her calf, and carefully rolled her stocking down. Bobbi caressed the now-bare skin, and, well, that certainly felt nothing like taking her own stockings off.

It felt just as amazing when Bobbi repeated her actions for the other side, and Jemma’s head spun when Bobbi gently set her foot down. Smiling, Bobbi ran a hand up Jemma’s thigh and pressed her fingers between Jemma’s legs.

Jemma’s moan sounded embarrassingly loud in the tiny cabin. Her body felt like a powder keg, ready to explode from the slightest spark.

Bobbi paused, pushed Jemma’s legs further apart, and returned her fingers to where they’d been, though this time she found the slit in Jemma’s drawers and slid them inside.

“You’re so wet,” Bobbi gasped, the tip of her finger stroking Jemma’s folds.

“I’m rather turned on.” Jemma gave herself permission to do what she’d been wanting since she’d first seen Bobbi. With a happy sigh, she sank her fingers into Bobbi’s thick halo of hair. The strands were thick and cool, slipping like silk between her fingers.

Bobbi’s finger found Jemma’s clit and circled it, the light touch enough to make Jemma’s hips buck. The touch disappeared, and Jemma whined.

“I’ve got you,” Bobbi said again. She used both hands to pull the large slit in the fabric wide, and tugged the garment tight against Jemma. Her knees turned to jelly as Bobbi leaned forward and licked Jemma’s pussy with the flat of her tongue. Bobbi had to put an arm around Jemma to steady her, grabbing her arse in the process and using the grip to tilt Jemma’s pelvis to give Bobbi more access.

The soft wet glide of Bobbi’s tongue over her clit, the softness of Bobbi’s breath against her pussy, the heaviness of Bobbi’s hair in her hands.

It was heaven.

Better than Jemma could have ever imagined.

The coil of bliss in her belly tightened. “Oh, just a little more. Please, love.”

Bobbi made a noise of agreement. Her hand moved and a fingertip nudged Jemma’s opening. “Is that alright?” Bobbi asked, lifting her face.

Jemma tugged at her hair to get Bobbi’s tongue back on her. “Yes, anything, so close.”

Bobbi’s finger pushed in and out of Jemma, making her legs shake.

She came with a feral growl as Bobbi’s tongue lashed her, her hands tightening on Bobbi’s head. It went on and on, wave after wave of pleasure as Bobbi kept licking. When Jemma finally came down, Bobbi stood to catch her. They somehow ended up on the bottom bunk again, pressed close together.

“Now you,” Jemma panted.

“I’ll be fine—”

“Don’t be silly,” she snapped. “You gave to me, and it was brilliant. Now I want to touch you. See you come. Now I can give pleasure, not just take.” She wanted to add that she didn’t know when she’d have another chance. She’d be years in Boston before finding the courage to approach another woman. Jemma didn’t even want to think about anyone that wasn’t Bobbi. Nobody else would ever be as kind, or clever, or beautiful.

Bobbi nodded and rolled on her back. Jemma bowed her head, catching one of Bobbi’s nipples between her lips. She caressed all of Bobbi she could reach, her arms, stomach, and thighs, her mouth switching between nipples so neither felt neglected.

Bobbi’s breathing roughed, and she started squirming. Jemma pressed her fingers between her thighs and moved them higher.

“Jemma,” Bobbi panted. “No penetration, please…I just…I want to only think of you.”

There was a lot of meaning there, but this wasn’t the time to pry. “Of course.” She pecked Bobbi’s lips before returning to playing with her breasts and moving her hand up. She stroked Bobbi’s mound and down to her pussy. She was warm and wet. Bobbi’s pussy felt different that Jemma’s, and Jemma took her time, learning every fold and marveling at the slightly protruding inner lips. Bobbi’s clit was swollen and hard, and Jemma quickly learned to rub just to the side of it, instead of on top.

She’d dreamed so long of learning another woman’s body, and that it was Bobbi made it all even more exciting.

Bobbi’s hips rose off the mattress. She muffled a cry with her hand as her body shuddered and pulsed. Jemma didn’t stop, and Bobbi barely went limp before she arched again, the cry softer with the second climax.

Jemma reluctantly reclaimed her hand and licked Bobbi’s salty, musky juices from her fingers as she scooted up to lay her head on the pillow beside Bobbi’s.

“Thank you,” Bobbi murmured, turning on her side and wrapping Jemma in a hug.

Jemma kissed her nose and Bobbi smiled. “Did I do alright?” Jemma asked.

“Amazing. If we hadn’t missed lunch, I’d say let’s skip dinner. I feel like my legs will never work again.”

Jemma chuckled. She felt light, far more buoyant than the ship. “Tomorrow can I perhaps be the one to lick your...uh—”

“Cunt?” Bobbi supplied with a devilish grin. The word seemed even dirtier coming from Bobbi’s sweet mouth.

“Yes, that.”

“Only if you say it.”

Jemma screwed up her nose. “Cunt,” she blurted. Goodness, she’d barely even thought of the word, let alone said it. This was a day for firsts. Like the Titanic, Jemma was on her maiden voyage into the larger world.

“Yes,” Bobbi said, laughing. “Good job.” She pecked Jemma’s lips. “And of course, we still have many days of sailing left. We can do everything you wish, there’s plenty of time.” 


	4. Chapter 4

_ April 14 _ _ th _ _ , 11:40 pm _

Bobbi woke with a start. Darkness filled the cabin, and she had no idea what had awoken her. Jemma lay naked and pressed close to Bobbi, her hair loose on the pillow and her breathing deep and even. Bobbi closed her eyes, it must have been nothing. Her fingers brushed over Jemma’s back.

In the span of a few days, Jemma had come to mean everything. Mornings were best with Jemma’s smiles and warm kisses. The rest of the day was also wonderful with their conversations about everything and nothing from breakfast to dinner, with time exploring and on deck between meals, were quickly becoming something Bobbi craved. Jemma seemed enraptured with Bobbi’s stories of Paris and Berlin, and Bobbi had an endless supply of those, all true. She just edited out the parts where she’d been actively spying.

Bobbi felt equally captivated by Jemma, who looked like ice wouldn’t melt in her mouth most of the day, conservatively dressed and very prim, but whose intellect was boundless and who had a hunger for knowledge, especially about anything she’d been denied, which included her own sexuality.

Jemma was a quick learner, one with a nimble tongue and talented fingers. Bobbi understood love, she’d been in love for a long time, still was, but in a second class cabin of the huge steamship, she’d found her heart had doubled. Disappearing into the crowds of New York and not looking back would be one of the hardest things Bobbi would ever have to do, but it’d be the only way to keep Jemma safe.

Nobody could use her as leverage that way, and Jemma would never have to know just how ugly the world could be.

Bobbi settled her head back down on the pillow, comfortable and warm with Jemma cuddled against her. She closed her eyes, only to open them again when she heard voices in the hallway. Something wasn’t right. Well-honed instincts pushed her to full alertness, and she gently shook Jemma. “You need to wake up.”

“What?” Jemma asked, yawning. She scrunched her nose and nuzzled Bobbi’s breast before snuggling against it. “Sleepy.”

“I’m not sure, but something’s wrong. We need to get up and dressed. Now.” Icy calm flooded Bobbi. Hopefully it was something like a passenger getting drunk and falling overboard. None of her concern and she could return with Jemma to their bunk and hold each other until the morning light came between them.

Jemma didn’t argue, or ask questions, she simply nodded and scrambled up to search for her stockings. Bobbi marveled at the amount of trust Jemma placed in her. They dressed quickly in their simplest clothing, helping each other to quickly braid their hair. Coats on, Bobbi led Jemma up to the deck.

Stars twinkled overhead, spinning away into infinity. Jemma tilted her head back, her breath visible in the chill air. Bobbi only spared them a single glance, she watched, and listened. The ship had struck an iceberg was the first thing she picked up, something about a part of it being kicked around the deck. The passengers were laughing dismissively, but the crew wore serious expressions as they hastened back and forth and whispered to each other.

“Sounds like a glancing blow,” Jemma said softly, rubbing her hands together. “The sea’s so calm there wouldn’t have been any waves breaking against the base. With how the Titanic is designed it shouldn’t be a big issue, there are watertight—”

Bobbi turned to face Jemma and took both her hands. “Don’t listen to the men spouting about how unsinkable this ship is,” Bobbi hissed. “Watch the crew.”

Jemma frowned, but shifted to be able to see around Bobbi. After long moments, she met Bobbi’s gaze. Jemma’s face had gone eerily pale. “I think we should, perhaps, return to our berth,” she said in a wooden voice.

In silence they hurried down the flights of stairs, not speaking until the door of their room had shut.

Jemma took a deep breath. “The ship’s floundering.”

“Or at least taking on water, they’re probably radioing for help.” Bobbi fisted her hands, but there was nobody and nothing to fight. All she wanted was to keep Jemma safe.

Jemma shook her head. “I don’t think Titanic is going to make New York. I’m not sure she’ll see the morning light.” Jemma picked up her notebook from the bench and put the pencil down on the floor. It rolled.

Bobbi watched it as it continued over to click against the wall.

“Dead calm sea,” Jemma said.

“Maybe use other words right now.” Bobbi reached for Jemma and pulled her into a hug. Jemma trembled. “Are you still cold?”

“This isn’t going to end well.”

“There are lifeboats.”

“I’ve been counting and recording figures about this ship for days,” Jemma said, her voice very small. “There aren’t enough lifeboats.”

****

The math problem of x amount of passengers and y amount of lifeboats kept circling around and around in Jemma’s brain. The answer never came out as anything but terrible. 

“We should get topside,” Bobbi said, looking so much calmer than Jemma felt.

“Yes, of course.” She looked down at the notebook in her hands. Fitz had begged her in his letters for it. Feeling like her joints had rusted, Jemma went to her bag and took out the money she had, while Bobbi did the same. With shaking fingers and a roiling stomach, Jemma unwrapped the wax paper from around a handful of sweets she’d bought the day before sailing. They’d lain forgotten in her luggage as she’d enjoyed sucking on Bobbi’s tongue so much more. She wrapped the paper around the small journal and her money before tucking it away in her coat pocket.

She straightened up to find Bobbi watching her with a blank expression. “That bad?” Bobbi said.

“Yes.”

There wasn’t any other answer. Jemma knew the ship thoroughly now, and if Fitz were there with her, he’d probably be able to calculate the precise time of sinking based on the angle of the ship’s list. Jemma could only estimate, but none of those numbers were reassuring.

“I’ll miss my hats,” Bobbi said, wistfully looking at the hatboxes stacked in the corner of the room.

Jemma almost smiled. “No you won’t.”

She opened the door and screamed. A man in a dark coat and bowler hat stood right in their doorway. Jemma stumbled back into Bobbi, who pushed Jemma behind her. The man was intimidatingly large and had quite the mustache.

“Barbara Morse,” he said in a clipped Boston accent. “You’re to come with me.”

Bobbi tilted her head. “You’re American?”

“I’m here to make sure you fulfill your duty to your government.”

Jemma was confused. “What is this? Who are you?”

The man ignored her.

“He’s been keeping tabs on me, I thought he was working for someone else. He still might be. An accent doesn’t mean much.”

“Look,” the man said. “I’m tired, let’s just get back to my cabin. You can stay there until the ship makes port. Nobody will notice us moving around in this hub-bub.” A predatory smile crept over his face. “I’m sure a pretty lady like you can think of a way to keep us busy for a couple of days. I can handcuff you to the bed if you want.”

Bobbi’s posture changed. Her back arched and she jutted a hip to the side. The man’s eyes fell to Bobbi’s cleavage. Jemma wanted to brain the berk. Those breasts were for her. Jemma had to trust that Bobbi knew what she was doing, the same way Bobbi trusted that Jemma’s observations about the ship were accurate.

Bobbi sauntered forward, and Jemma, who had no training whatsoever in the art of deception, could see exactly how false Bobbi’s movements were, which made her wonder why this interloper couldn’t. Men really did think with the wrong head most of the time.

“A big fellow like you,” Bobbi purred, turning to lean back against him. “I bet you can satisfy any woman.” The man craned his head over Bobbi’s shoulder to keep looking down the front of her dress.

“You better believe—” He broke off into a pained yelp as Bobbi smashed her elbow into his nose. The man reeled back, blood gushing down his face. Bobbi grabbed Jemma’s hand and they ran into the stairwell. It was more crowded than before, but they were still able to flee, not stopping until they were on the deck.

Jemma panted. It was far more rushing than she was used to.

“My own government sent that pervert to keep tabs on me,” Bobbi seethed, not nearly so winded as Jemma.

“Why’d he come after you now?”

Bobbi grabbed Jemma’s hand and led her into the gathering crowd. People sounded more alarmed now, and the ship’s list had become more obvious. They threaded around knots of people until they were on the other side of the smokestacks.

Bobbi stood close to Jemma. “He came after me because of the chaos. Probably has instructions that if there are any emergencies he’s supposed to detain me.” She swiveled her head. “Keep your eyes open, he won’t give up.”

Jemma held onto Bobbi’s hand and did her best to push away panic and fear. She felt so powerless. So many people were going to die, and she could do nothing, she couldn’t even help Bobbi. “That was quite the hit you gave that bloke.”

The corner of Bobbi’s mouth lifted. “It’s a good thing he was taller than me and an idiot. They never send the smart ones to deal with a woman.”

“That’s insulting.”

“It really is. I see him, let’s move.” They walked quickly over the planks of the deck, coming to a halt near the bow. Jemma looked over the rail. The water was already far too close.

“Bobbi,” she said in a soft voice. “We’ve less than two hours before the ship goes under.”

****

You’d think something on a boat this big could be used for a weapon. Bobbi was done with the cat and mouse game they’d been playing for the last half an hour with the jerk chasing them. At least they didn’t have to run, though that might have at least kept Jemma warm. She shivered almost nonstop, even in her coat.

Bobbi would kill this moron and then wrap Jemma up in his thick wool greatcoat.

“Another lifeboat that’s not full,” Jemma said as the sound of it lowering into the water rose from over the side.

Bobbi hustled her towards a grated stairwell where shadows gathered. “How many lifeboats short is this thing?”

“Enough for about half the people on board, if every boat was to full capacity.”

She closed her eyes as they squeezed into the shadows together. “I should no longer be disappointed by humanity,” Bobbi said. “I’ve seen far too much, but the sheer hubris…” she trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

“Excuse me,” said a voice with a north England accent. Bobbi whipped around to the barred stairs. A woman stood beyond the grate, a small child in her arms. The woman looked Chinese, or at least a lot like the people with ancestors from that country that Bobbi had met in San Francisco. Her expression was one of stark fear. “They’re not letting us out of steerage, and, well, I managed to get past a crewman while my husband distracted him. Can you open the gate?” The entrance to the stairs, which were narrow, was blocked by a folding gate. It’s criss-crossed metal slats were far apart, but not enough for an adult to maneuver through. “I tried,” the woman said. “But it won’t budge.” The baby whimpered. 

Jemma immediately started pulling at it and examining the lock. It wouldn’t budge. The three of them tried to pull on it together, but it still remained firmly in place. The woman wiped at the tears in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Jemma said.

Bobbi turned her head, catching sight of the man in the bowler hat working his way through the crowd. “We need to move,” she said.

“This is Daisy,” the woman said, lifting her child. “She’s only a few weeks old. Please.”

She squeezed the tiny baby through one of the biggest diamond-shaped openings in the gate, Jemma helping to pull it wide enough for the baby and her blankets. Bobbi looked at the little girl’s innocent eyes and soft cheeks. She took the baby in her arms. “I’m sorry, we have to go.” The bowler hat was getting closer.

“Daisy.” The woman said again, her tears coming harder. Bobbi’s heart lurched as she met the woman’s gaze. Bobbi nodded, briefly touched the woman’s fingers where they gripped the gate, and gripped Jemma’s wrist, pulling her away from the blocked stairs. The woman slid to the ground. 

Bobbi looked back once more, watching the woman’s hand snake out and trip the man in the bowler hat, making him stumble and curse. It bought Bobbi and Jemma enough to slip around several groups of people to block the man’s view. 

Bobbi and Jemma hurried towards the stern of the boat, pressing into a crowd of people around a lifeboat.

“We need to get on,” Jemma said to Bobbi in a hushed tone. “There’s not many left.”

Bobbi looked up and down the deck, at the row of empty slots for lifeboats. The baby snuggled against her. “Maybe the other side.”

“If it was just you and me, then yes, we could take our chances.” Jemma’s voice was grim. “But we, and that’s we, not only you, just adopted a child.”

“We’ll find her mother when we’re rescued.” Of course they would, and she’d be so glad to see her daughter. Bobbi’s heart sank.

“She did what she had to,” Jemma’s voice was soft. “And now we do the same.”

Bobbi pushed through the crowd, Daisy protectively against her chest and Jemma’s hand gripped in hers. The boat was full. She could see it even as the crewmen sorted out the lines to lower it into the black water.

She raised her and Jemma’s conjoined hand and kissed the back. “We’ll go to the other side.” She could hear strains of music playing from there. The man in the bowler hat was trying to push to where Bobbi stood. “I’ll see you and Daisy safe.” She passed the child to Jemma. “I love you,” Bobbi said very quietly, just for Jemma’s ears. Bobbi’s world would end in a swirl of inky, frigid water, but it’d be okay because Jemma would live.

The crowd had started to move, looking for other succor, and the man would be on them in a minute.

“Pardon me,” said an elderly woman in a large hat. Her face was deeply wrinkled, but her eyes were lively. “I do think I should get off.”

“You can’t just—” A crewman said.

“I’m 82,” the woman said, standing. “I damn well do what I want. And what I want is for these two skinny girls and this child to take my place.”

She stepped decidedly over the railing and onto the deck.

Bobbi stared at the vacated spot, hope blossoming like the first flower of spring in her chest. 

“Oh,” Jemma said. “We couldn’t, but could you take this little one?” Damn it, was Jemma trying to die with Bobbi? The grand sacrifice was supposed to be Bobbi’s to make.

“You can.” The woman leaned in close to them. “My Anne has been waiting on me these last couple of years. I’ll be glad to see her again. My advice, don’t ever let anybody tell you that your love isn’t real. It’s a beautiful thing.”

The woman nodded and walked away, her head held high and spine straight. Bobbi had thought she knew what courage looked like, but she had a new definition now. 

Raised voices caught her attention. 

The man in the bowler hat was arguing with one of the crewmen, something about room in the lifeboat. The crewman didn’t look very happy with him. Jemma took the other one’s hand and sat down, scooting over. Bobbi climbed in after her. The bench was hard, the cold air burned, but the satisfaction of watching her would-be captor’s face as the winch lowered them down was something she’d always remember.

The oars came out, the sound of them rattling in their locks and the splash as the oarsmen rowed loud. Nobody spoke.

The Titanic’s bow was deep in the water. So many people still milled about on the decks.

Jemma pressed against Bobbi’s side, tiny Daisy clutched to her chest. “I love you too,” Jemma whispered.

Bobbi put an arm around her and hugged her fiercely.

The ship’s lights sputtered out. 


	5. Chapter 5

Jemma curled against Bobbi. They were sitting, exhausted, in a corridor of the Carpathia. Daisy, clean and fed—a mother on board had gladly nursed her—slept contently in Bobbi’s arms.

“At least one of us is getting some rest,” Jemma mumbled.

Bobbi nodded but remained silent. The great ship had upended and broke in two before disappearing, leaving so many struggling in the freezing water. Eventually, the struggling had stopped.

Jemma didn’t know how she lived when death had claimed so many.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for being in that boat,” she whispered to Bobbi.

Bobbi turned to her gaze to Jemma’s face. “Don’t,” she said. “We live for everyone who couldn’t.” Her voice was fierce. “There are tragedies every day. Every minute. The best way to fight back is to look for where the sun shines through the cracks of despair and stand in its light for as long as possible.”

Shadows haunted Bobbi’s eyes, and Jemma knew whatever Bobbi carried with her, it wasn’t easy.

“What do we do now?” Jemma asked. She rested her head against Bobbi’s shoulder. A man from the Carpathia’s crew moved among the Titanic’s passengers to collect names. It took him long minutes with each person as he searched over his sheet with names he’d already collected, looking to reunite loved ones. He didn’t seem to be having much success.

Bobbi sighed softly, then spoke in Jemma’s ear. “Could I come with you, do you think? If they don’t know I’m Barbara Morse? What if I was your cousin?”

Jemma tried to picture it. “No more men in bowler hats, I’m assuming.”

“Not one. I could start over. Hunter will think I died, but so will the government. I’ll be free.”

Jemma wanted to ask about Hunter. Who was he? What did he mean to Bobbi? But all of that hardly mattered now. “Would you…would you really want to stay with me? Be together, I mean.”

“Yes.” The word was said with conviction, and it rang through Jemma’s heart.

“Then we will make this work. I am Jemma Fitz, a married woman traveling to meet my husband.” Fitz would have a heart attack, but he would understand. “This is our child.” She pointed to Daisy. “I’ve been seasick, and my milk has dried up before it really got started.” Providing good nutrition would be a challenge, but Jemma felt certain she was up to the task. The glass bottles used to feed infants were better now than even a few years ago. Daisy hadn’t survived the night only to succumb to scurvy. “You’re my American cousin on my mother’s side—we need a name. I’m certain you won’t have to always use it.”

“And it can’t be something I’ve ever called myself before, and it can’t be too obviously fake.”

“Roberta something or other.”

Bobbi made a face. “Really?”

“It’s close without being close.” Jemma smiled.

“Fine Roberta Marino. Your mother’s sister married an Italian.”

She laughed. “You’re going to have to share all your Italian granny’s pasta recipes.”

“I have more than you think. And I suppose I’m with you to help with the baby? Since you’ll be working?”

“Whatever story makes people ignore us is fine.”

Bobbi swayed, rocking the baby. “I think from this day forward, I am very good with being ignored.”

****

The nights crammed together in what little space the Carpathia had boasted left Bobbi’s muscles cramped. She carried Daisy, who was fast asleep, against her shoulder as she hobbled down the gangway and onto the soil of New York. Some people rushed to kiss it. They must not have backs that felt like they were on fire.

Bobbi kept her head down, and a long, dark kerchief covered her hair. There would be people looking for her, but they’d only have a description. She’d been in Europe for years, much too long for anyone to remember her features. Daisy made the best camouflage. Men’s eyes simply slid over a woman with an infant in her arms.

They pushed their way through the crowd, moving around groups of people joyfully reuniting.

Bobbi’s saw a few men that might be scanning for her, but none of them looked twice at her or Daisy.

“Jemma!” a voice rang out. “Jemma!”

Bobbi watched as a slight man with light brown hair darted through the crowd and caught Jemma around the waist, hugging her tight.

“Fitz!”

Ah, so this was her dear friend. Bobbi waited for the kissing to start, but the hug simply continued. “I had to come see. Oh god, the news has been so conflicting. But you’re here.” He stood back, grinning wide. “You made it. I knew no blasted ship could sink you.”

He looked like he’d known anything but, and Bobbi’s heart went out to him. She’d be at her wit’s end if she didn’t know where Jemma was, or if she was safe.

“I have something to tell you,” Jemma said in a low voice, drawing him near.

“You do?”

Jemma pointed to Bobbi. “I met someone on board.” Fitz’s eyes darted to Bobbi. “I like her very much, but her life before now hasn’t been simple. At this moment I’m your wife, that’s our daughter, and Bobbi’s name, if anyone asks, is Miss Marino, my cousin. She’s to live with us and help care for Daisy, who we rescued on the ship.” Fitz’s brows rose almost to his hairline. “And I’m standing here today because of Bobbi.”

His face crumpled. “Thank you,” he said, sounding like he was nearly ready to drop and worship at her feet.

Bobbi handed him the baby.

For a minute they both seemed awkward and unsure, but then Daisy cooed, and Fitz smiled down at her, his shoulders relaxing. “Hello to you too. I guess I’m your da now. I don’t suppose you like monkeys?”

****

_July 1912_

The Boston summer sizzled, handing out heat and humidity like candy.

Bobbi welcomed it because it made it very easy to convince Jemma to take her clothes off. Their odd little family had settled into a house not far from the university campus and its offices and laboratories. Nobody at the place had blinked when Fitz had introduced Jemma as his wife and research assistant, but any worries Bobbi had felt over Fitz possibly carrying a tinder for Jemma had been well laid to rest.

He did love Jemma in his way, and she him, but he’d taken a room as far away from Jemma and Bobbi’s as possible. Bobbi didn’t think he even wanted to vaguely imagine what they got up to in here. Though it also meant he didn’t pick up on clues that she and Jemma wanted to be alone, like now.

He trailed behind them, Daisy in his arms—he took his role of being her father very seriously—chatting mostly to himself about some metal alloy that he and Jemma were working on. They climbed the stairs, passing through a house that Bobbi felt enormously proud of. Hunter—a pang went through her chest—would have laughed at her being so domestic. She’d thought that women who made homes and raised children must simply be boring, but she knew better now. It took hard work and exacting skill to keep everything and everyone going on schedule and the place clean and tidy.

Bobbi constantly surprised herself with how much she enjoyed it. Jemma claimed that dust bunnies were frightened of her, as they damn well should be.

Bobbi stopped in the doorway to the bedroom. Jemma slipped by her, but she put her arm up. “Fitz,” Bobbi said. “I don’t suppose you can…not be here, right now? I was bringing my lover to our room for a reason.”

Fitz frowned, then rolled his eyes. “We were discussing—”

“And you can do it some more over dinner. I don’t think the little fan in the refrigerator was turning correctly this morning, would you be a dear and check it?” She batted her eyelashes at him, though it’d really be the idea that his ingenious little device, a fan to help the air circulate, which depended on the wind blowing on the turbine hooked to it through the kitchen wall, wasn’t working that would get him moving.

Fitz patted Daisy’s back. “On it.”

Bobbi shut the door and turned to find Jemma already stripped down to her underthings and opening a window to let in air that might be a little cooler. Jemma’s long hair hung down her back, and her rear looked delicious with only thin linen covering it.

“It’s so bloody humid,” Jemma said, fanning her face with a hand. “I feel like I’m drown—” Her mouth snapped closed and she sat down hard on the edge of the mattress.

Bobbi had just dropped her dress, and she tossed herself onto the bed to pull Jemma into her arms. “You’re here,” Bobbi whispered. “You’re here, with me.” Bobbi had nightmares of that night, mostly about losing Jemma and not being able to find her as the Titanic sank. Jemma’s dreams were of death and water. “The air is hotter than hell from the summer sun.”

Jemma slowly relaxed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to go back there over and over again.”

“You need more time between then and now.” Bobbi smoothed a hand over Jemma’s thick hair. “I love the Titanic for bringing me you. And Daisy. And this life. I hate it for becoming a grave. Both things can be true.”

“You’re very smart, you know.” Jemma sighed and rolled on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She was silent for a moment. “Who’s Hunter?”

Bobbi groaned, then laughed. “He was my pretend husband, but much less pretend than you and Fitz.” She sighed wistfully. “I miss his stupid face.”

“You love him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, and I love you.”

Jemma smiled and extended her arms overhead, leaving herself stretched out. “But who is he?”

“He worked for the Brits. I supposed I’m a sucker for the accent.”

“You mean for people who can speak properly.”

Bobbi snorted. “Yes, that. I can’t help but miss him. We didn’t have a proper goodbye, and now he thinks I’m gone. I’d once thought we’d somehow grow old together. I suppose he won’t ever imagine me old now.”

“If he finds you, I won’t stand in your way.”

“What?” Bobbi cuddled against Jemma’s side and undid the top buttons of her camisole. “No. That’s not…” She let out a breath. “I won’t leave you. If Hunter wants to be around, then I’ll share with him whatever you’re comfortable with me sharing. I’m not going to pretend I don’t like both men and women, but my commitment is to you and to our family. Hunter would have to figure out how he’d fit in, and it’s a moot point. He has no idea I’m alive.” She slid a hand under the linen to cup Jemma’s breast. The nipple pebbled and Jemma arched into Bobbi’s touch.

“I think I’d be fine with a lot.”

“I don’t want to talk about him, not now.”

“Is he why you don’t want me to put my fingers or anything else inside you?”

Bobbi pushed herself to where she could nip Jemma’s lips. “Yes and no. There’s no reason like I’m saving that for him, it just makes me think of him, and when I’m with you, I only want to think of you.”

Jemma nodded. “I love you, Barbra Morse. You’ve saved me in so many ways.” Jemma lifted her head and their lips met. Soft and achingly sweet.

Bobbi didn’t want sweet. She wanted the past to be put where it belonged, in the past. Even if in their heads the Titanic sunk every day, it didn’t mean that they had to go down with it.

She sat up and tugged first Jemma’s camisole off, and then her own. Their knickers followed. Bobbi lay on her side and hauled Jemma against her, pulling Jemma’s thigh over her hip. They undulated together, breasts rubbing breasts, hands on backs, asses, and tangled in hair. The breeze through the window dried the sweat on their bodies.

Jemma rubbed her slick pussy against Bobbi’s leg, the heat hotter than the summer air. Bobbi caught Jemma’s mouth in a sloppy kiss, desperate to let her know how much she was loved. What Bobbi thought would be a fling had ended up being the most important relationship of her life, and had changed its course dramatically, in a way Bobbi hadn’t even known she wanted.

Jemma groaned and her hips moved faster as her eyes squeezed closed. Bobbi plucked at her nipple, sending her tumbling over the edge into orgasm. Her face flushed with it, more beautiful than anything else Bobbi had ever seen.

Jemma’s eyes popped open, the whiskey color deep and warm. “Now you!”

Her hand shot down between Bobbi’s thighs, finding her clit and rubbing. Bobbi moaned, but then Jemma’s hand flattened and pet her entire pussy. For a moment, Bobbi thought Jemma was going to push her fingers inside her, and she froze.

Jemma’s hand stilled. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, sorry. I believe for a moment you were going to…I don’t know, say that I shouldn’t be thinking of Hunter and try to—”

The corners of Jemma’s mouth turned up. Her fingers curled, teasing Bobbi’s clit. “I know your boundaries and your body. I don’t expect you to stop loving him or not to know what you want.” Her shoulder shrugged. “I don’t doubt how you feel about me.”

Jemma nipped Bobbi’s lower lip before pressing her tongue into her mouth while doing some expert fingering of Bobbi’s clit. Jemma might be busy studying the chemistry of...oh, that felt _good_ , but she’d also been studying Bobbi.

Her belly coiled tight and she came hard, mewling Jemma’s name.

As soon as Bobbi came back to earth, she bowled Jemma over onto her back. The valley between her breasts called to Bobbi, and she nuzzled it before dragging her tongue over to a nipple.

“How did I get so lucky that I found you?” Jemma moaned, squirming. Bobbi nibbled her way down Jemma’s belly, kissing every freckle she could find until she ensconced herself between Jemma’s spread thighs.

Jemma was very wrong. It was Bobbi that who’d been lucky. Who continued to be lucky every day.

***

_September 1912_

Jemma sat on one of the living room chairs, knitting a scarf for Bobbi out of blue wool that would make her eyes stand out. Fitz already had a hat, and Daisy a pair of booties, even though the summer seemed determined to hang on.

Eventually, they’d need warm things.

Fitz lay on the floor, Daisy on his chest. She could sit up on her own now and enjoyed sitting on her papa, who’d talk endlessly to her while occasionally flying her through the air and making her giggle and giggle.

Bobbi lounged by their phonograph, in charge of keeping the music going as she seemed to have the best taste.

The windows were all open and lemonade sat sweating on a sideboard.

A sharp rap at the front door startled Jemma. She cursed as she dropped a stitch. A second round of knocking had her and Bobbi on their feet while Fitz craned his head towards the door. Daisy kicked her feet.

“I’ll get it,” Jemma said, setting her knitting aside. Bobbi nodded. They didn’t think anyone would show up to try and take away Bobbi, who’d supposedly drowned in April, but it was always a faint worry. Jemma tucked a lock behind her ear that’d escaped her bun and swung open the door. A man with haunted eyes stood there, worrying his hat in his hand. He had quite a bit of stubble and his wrinkled suit made him look decidedly like he’d been having a rough time. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Jemma Simmons?” he asked, his accent a familiar London one.

“It’s Jemma Fitz now.”

“Mrs. Fitz, my name is Lance Hunter and I think you might have been the last person to see Barbara Morse alive.”

Jemma’s mind spun. “You’re Hunter?” she blurted.

His eyes widened. “I am?”

It sounded like a question, though he did look adorable while sputtering awkwardly on her doorstep. “I suppose you are,” she prompted.

His gaze lowered to their feet. “I came to ask…I love her—loved her—and I want to know if she was happy before the sinking.”

Jemma could feel movement behind her. “How did you find me?”

“There weren’t that many Jemmas on the survivors' list, and even though you gave a different last name, I hoped.” He raised his eyes. They glimmered with unshed tears. “Please, did she seem alright during the voyage?”

Jemma shrugged. “Ask her yourself.” She stepped to the side. Bobbi stood in the hallway, a hand over her mouth.

“Hunter!” she gasped.

He dropped his hat. “Bob?”

Bobbi held out her arms and he ran into them, shaking with silent sobs as they clung together.

Jemma rescued the derby hat Hunter had forgotten on the stoop. Closing the door, she went to make her way around Bobbi and Hunter to give them a moment, but Bobbi caught her arm. She stepped back from Hunter. “This is Jemma,” Bobbi said, putting an arm around her. “My cabin mate onboard Titanic. She’s the one.”

A look passed between her and Hunter, then he swept Jemma into a hug. “Thank you for being with her,” he said. “And if Bob loves you, then you must be wonderful.”

He was half-crushing her and Bobbi had to rescue her. Laughing, Jemma led them to the living room, where Fitz stood with Daisy on his hip while he changed over the record. Al Johnson belted out _That Haunting Melody_ as he turned to face Hunter.

“I’m Fitz,” he said. “Jemma and Bobbi’s friend, and this is Daisy.”

“She’s, um, lovely,” Hunter said, sounding like he had no idea what to do with a baby. Fitz put a hand on his hip and Bobbi cackled. Jemma had no doubt he’d learn. He hadn’t spent ages tracking her down not to be staying for a while.

“We rescued her during the sinking,” Bobbi patted Hunter’s back. “And now she’s all of ours.”

Daisy burbled and grabbed for Fitz’s nose.

Hunter smiled. “Another miracle.”

Bobbi led Hunter to the sofa and pushed him to sit. “We’ve got lots to talk about.” Bobbi’s eyes met Jemma’s. They asked a question. Was it okay if she and Hunter talked alone? Jemma nodded in response and made sure Bobbi saw her smile. Jemma didn’t mind of Hunter and Bobbi spent time together, in whatever way they wanted. He’d always be welcomed. Jemma would no more ask Bobbi to change than she’d ask a leopard to change its spots. 

“It might be, uh, sensitive,” Hunter added, which Jemma took to be code for some spy thing.

“No worries,” Bobbi said airly. “They’re both scientists, if I need to distract them, I just say something inane. Like alligators are fish.”

Jemma snorted and Fitz huffed. “Do not listen to Mama Bobbi,” he said to Daisy. “They are not fish.”

“Guh,” she said solemnly.

“We’ll go have lemonade in the kitchen,” he said, heading that way.

Jemma paused in the doorway as Fitz sat at the table with Daisy, and Hunter and Bobbi talked softly.

Something seemed to have eased in Bobbi’s shoulders. It made Jemma’s chest warm.

Everything important to her was in this house, and no matter what storms they may have to weather, there was one thing she knew about her and Bobbi: Their love would always be unsinkable.

~Fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments will be loved and given puppies and candy!


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